Emerson Does Not Care

Emerson was once again experiencing the tactical sensation on the back of his neck, that felt like his hairs were charged by static. He often felt this sensation when he thought of his past and the mistakes he has made. His mistakes had patterns; patterns that pointed to him wasting his eighty plus years, on the foolish dream of making a quick buck and doing as little work as he need do.

He was not lazy, far from it, he'd put in hours and days to try to land a deal. He'd drive hundreds of miles, just to shake a hand if he had too. Putting this kind of effort into his wild hair ideas to get rich, was nothing. When it came to admitting to himself if any of these schemes really worked out, well he'd just deny the truth. The truth that none of them worked out as planned, and he lost 'so called' friends and acquaintances along the way.

Truth was something he played fast and loose with. He'd tell himself they were just white lies, no harm to anyone, just a little spice added to the tale. Once people got to know him, they'd spot the little white spots in the sales pitch and either feel sorry for him, or stroke his ego and move on. Some of his acquaintances were just as devious and diluted as he was. They ignored these flaws in him, knowing that to look at them full on would be to admit to themselves that they too had these human failing.

Some might classify these failing as that of a gambler, and gamblers always thought that any failed plans in their life was not their fault. Fault was on those that never came through with their side of the business deal; the fault was never his for trying to sale something that was sprinkled with too many missing details and worth less then marketed.

His need, to land the big deal, was so great that when his spouse of forty six years was dying from pancreatic cancer, he could not leave his dealing, to accompany her to her final specialist appointment eight hours away. She left him in their home to go with her daughters to try and find some help for her illness. Help that he should have helped her find. He did not get involved in her illness, he just gambled on the odds that she would figure it out and live.

Emerson received the call, not more than forty eight hours after she left; she was in the ER and may not make it thru the night. At this juncture in his life he struggled to even think of going to see her, until he heard that she has refused treatment waiting for him to arrive so that they might say goodbye. His daughters were all with her, did she need him? He was not able to be her caregiver, her advocate for treatment options. The last six months were not focused on her, but on him and the deal, he felt the weight of his actions on her current prognosis.

After the call Emerson pulled a suitcase together and hit the road for the trip to her hospital bed side. That trip was one of the last ones he was to make with her in his life, she was not going to recover and he would be alone. Alone and still be trying to bring home the gold, then he realized that she was the gold, and it was too late.

His daughters knew that after their mothers death, they'd be responsible for him, in as much as they did not want him to be on the streets and homeless, or living in his own filth. On her death bed their mother apologized for leaving there dad behind and so helpless. His daughters were not prepared for the gambling to continue, they knew the statistics, and expected him to die soon after their mother. But they watched from the sidelines, as he worked his deals, until his living alone was working counter to his health.

He knew he could not care for himself, his wife had done everything for the household, everything but have a job and bring home the funds. He did not always bring home the cash either, he spent it on the next big deal, or just pocketed it for himself later, leaving his family with less. Not to say that he did not provide for them, he saw too it that they had things. He also had things, things to show his status, the status of a successful man. However his ability to hold up the cost of the white lie of status, was disappearing as he aged. He aged to the point that he had nothing, but what his daughters shared with him.

They all shared something, but it was his oldest daughter, the middle child, that he ended up living with. He did not know her, nor did he want to know her. His attitude on life was, I'm too old to learn anything new, so I choose to live in my white lies, I do not want to change. He looked for things in her behavior that reminded him of his father, her grandfather, knowing any resemblance between them was all in his head. His father died when she was twelve, and up to that point, he had not really noticed her. She was not the oldest, a boy; or the first youngest, baby girl.

He found it hard to get along with her, cause she took no shit and called him out on his life fantasy to be rich by landing a big deal. He'd already taken a large loan from her and her spouse. He begged for the money, gave them the white lies on the deal, and guilt ed them into it out of loyalty as a father. His wife just stood by and watched with sadness, knowing that this daughter might be his only hope in is last days and that he was ruining all his chances for her to really care.

To his end she and her spouse cared for him in their home. The home they saved to buy, for the life they wished to live. The home they had to compromise on so that he could have his loan for the next gamble. He stayed in his room and out of their way, unless he was hungry, then he'd appear and nudge them to make a meal. They did not eat on the schedule of an old man, nor did they eat like an old man. He ate the food, but was passive aggressive when he commented on their food and his food preferences.

He lived with them for many years and never really got involved in their lives. His past regrets were so many, and he saw no way to rectify those he had toward her and her spouse, that he just continued to add more to the stack. He was alone. Alone with no cheerleader, like his wife, on his side telling him he wold be able to make that big deal. He ended up just being, unable to scheme with anyone, unable to gamble with their lives and feed them white lies.

He could have been great. He could have made more of himself. He could have saw too it that his wife got early detection treatment instead of hospice. He could have made it big, if only someone would take his deal.